After a long day at work, it felt good to bend something to her spidery will.
dreams of a pixie poet
“A fitful slumber can be found
Where forest shadows doth abound,”
the pixie began.
The child opened an eye and peered at the pixie.
He quieted, embarrassed. He never meant to wake her.
With a tiny yawn the child fell asleep again, only to be charmed the rest of her life by the strangest dream of a fairy poet…
the old woman and her book
The old woman stumbled into her garden, grumbling at the cold for nipping at her fingers. She brushed away the leaves that had fallen onto her typewriter overnight and set to work, the flame of her ambition keeping her warm.
She finished her book before the first snows fell. This was her desire.
They found her there, frozen in place, a smile about her lips and a satisfied look in her eye. Her book could not be found, for the storm had blown it over half the county. All that year farmers found her pages in their crops, children discovered her words in their forts, and hikers came across her lines written all over the forest. They collected them, but it seemed they never could find every one, and this, in the end, was how she haunted them.
farewells of the year’s first frost
The green things lay covered with fuzzy white frost. Not a bee buzzed in the silent morning, and the smell of wood smoke lingered in the valley.
“I guess that’s that, then,” said the garden gnome, packing up his tools. He double-checked to make sure the asparagus had a thick blanket of fallen leaves and straw to keep it warm through the winter. Then he tucked a few frost sweetened carrots into his backpack for the journey.
He tipped his hat to the nearby house, smoke curling from its chimney. “See you in spring,” he said in a gruff voice, and set off for his winter home, deep in the forest and far beneath the earth where the cold couldn’t reach.
a fairy caught, a fairy freed
The fairy fluttered for a moment before giving up in disgust.
“That you, Tangles?”
“Yeah. It’s me again,” answered the fairy. “Sorry.”
“No problem. Stay still, I’ll be right there.” The spider started picking his way to her.
“You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“Not if you don’t want me to,” said the spider. He freed her wing from his sticky web with care.
She hung her head. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. I’ve caught you three times this week, that’s less than last week by half! You’re doing well!”
Tangles sighed. “Thanks, Mr. Rupert, but we’re only half way through the week.”
Mr Rupert the spider looked around to see if anyone else was listening. “Between you and me, there isn’t a fairy alive that hasn’t been caught in a web at least once. We even get special training so we don’t eat you by mistake.”
respite from responsibilities
She dropped her responsibilities, one by one, into the stream. They floated, giving her pause, for she expected them to sink. She gave her head a shake and ran off into the forest, forgetting all about them and relishing her freedom.
The current carried her cares into an eddy formed by rocks, and there it washed them clean and kept them safe. Hours passed before she returned to claim them.
As she plucked them, one by one, from the stream, she marveled at how little they weighed. Hadn’t she grown weary beneath their burden a few hours ago? She smiled, skipping home again, ready to take on the world or half of it at least.
how I confused the stork
The stork scratched his head with his trusty pencil and squinted at the birth announcement. He couldn’t figure it out, and he didn’t appreciate it. Baby delivering storks are somewhat endangered due to having little time to relax and lay eggs while they’re busy delivering countless babies in this over-populated world of ours. Every stork had to work, long, hard hours coming and going from the cabbage patch. They didn’t have time for tomfoolery.
His knock on my door sounded upset (and feathery). “What’s wrong?” I asked, as I opened the door.
He waved my birth announcement in the air. “What does this mean? You writers with your metaphors, choice of voice, and desire to be creative! Are you having a book or a baby?”
I could feel my eyes glaze over – a new book! My heart leapt at the idea. And with NaNoWriMo just around the corner…the baby launched a hard kick somewhere deep inside my swollen belly. “A baby, I’m sure of it. Early February.”
The stork made a few notes on the back of the picture. “February, eh? Interesting timing. Middle of winter and all that. Very inconvenient. I don’t like getting snow on my feathers, you know, makes them all clumpy.” He shook his head at my belly and flew off, his grumbles echoing through the night.
just a quick winter’s nap
Summer left them ragged, tattered, and tired. A flush crept into their cheeks, their eyelids growing bothersome and heavy. “It isn’t anything personal,” they say, their mumbles descending into snores, “a quick winter’s nap and I’ll be good as new.”
The rest of us smile and prepare for our leafless, snowy futures with mugs of hot drinks, stacks of worthy books, woolly mittens, and fuzzy slippers, knowing as we do a winter’s nap is anything but quick.
an ogre grumbles, ill content
Her voice fell to a whisper. “Be careful, he’s sensitive.”
“Why?”
A grumble filled the air. “Because I used to be an ogre. I used to fight! I could eat a village in two minutes flat. Broke records, I did, until I met that witch with twitchy wand. Now look at me, I’m a dang marshmallow!”
just an old worker bee
Frederik sensed the seasons changing. He knew he didn’t have much longer before the frosts came and the cooler temperatures brought an end to his life. If he found himself a new hive in time he might stand a chance, but he would have to leave his best friend.
The same best friend who offered him the shelter of her petals when his old hive cast him out. He was just another worker bee who got too old and too slow. The flower didn’t think so. She loved him, and she appreciated all the pollen he’d brought her over the summer. He didn’t know it, but she had saved her sweetest nectar for his daily visits.
She didn’t have much more than a month to go herself before the winter took over and scattered her seeds to the wind. He hugged her close. He would never leave.
Jennifer Shelby 